


Snark and Pie

by cybergirl614



Series: Fever and Pie [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst and Humor, Angsty Schmoop, Bickering, Caring Castiel, Caring Sam, Dean Loves Pie, Dean Needs Castiel, Destiel - Freeform, Emotional Constipation, Fluff, Hurt Dean, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Castiel/Dean Winchester, Implied Slash, M/M, Needy Dean, Pie, Pre-Slash, Sick!Dean, Sleepy Cuddles, Teasing, Unresolved Emotional Tension, hurt!Dean, pre-destiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-24
Updated: 2015-05-24
Packaged: 2018-03-31 23:06:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3996574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cybergirl614/pseuds/cybergirl614
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean wakes up after Cas leaves, feeling inordinately irritable with Sam because of both his injuries and the annoying questions Sam keeps posing. When Sam leaves to get them supper, Dean's evening goes from bad to worse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Dean groaned, blinking sleepily. Cas had apparently left before Dean woke up, because it was just him and Sam alone in the room. Sam was sitting in the chair across from the couch, still wondering just what he’d seen when he’d walked in. 

Dean groaned, stretching, and flipped channels on the tv again, grumbling that it was all commercials right now. 

Sam saw his chance to ask.

“Why…Was Cas…holding you?” Sam said haltingly.

He could almost feel the burn of Dean’s glare on him, now fully awake upon hearing the question. The look Dean sent was so vicious looking Sam swallowed a laugh. 

“Dude, honest question. Don’t look at me like that, I’m not some monster you have to gank,” Sam followed up quickly.

“No.” Dean said tersely, as he found his voice. “And mention that again, and I’ll kick your ass.”

 

‘Not right now you won’t,” Sam shrugged. “So I am asking—“

“Shut your face,” Dean insisted, “Or so help me, Sam, I will kick your ass from this couch!” Dean paused for effect then added with an altogether ridiculous air of bravado, “Without getting up.” 

“Oooh, scary,” Sam teased. “So I’m not allowed to ask about that. Geeze. I was just wondering if your fever was back or something. I mean, it’s kinda out of character for you—“

 

“Last time,” Dean growled. “Drop it.” 

“Alright, jerk!” 

“Bitch.” Dean retaliated. 

“Fine.” Sam shrugged, adding with a smirk, “But then, I guess you don’t want to know what Cas said before he left.” 

“What? What did Cas say?” Dean asked suddenly, interest piqued.  
“Oh no, I'm not supposed to talk about that, am I?” Sam was having altogether too much fun irking Dean. It served him right, though. He’d been insufferable the past few days, and boy if Sam wasn’t ready to give him a taste of what he’d been dishing out. 

“What did Cas say?” Dean persisted.

“Nope, not telling.” 

“Sammy! Quit being so damn annoying,” Dean snapped.

 

“Really now? Like you haven’t earned just a little of it?” 

“Fine. I’m sorry, OK? Just…damn it, this couch isn’t getting any more comfortable, and healing isn’t getting any faster! I hate being laid up like this!” Dean griped. “So…tell me, what did Cas say?!” 

 

“He said…”

“Yeah?”

“He said…” 

“What?!”

“I’m pulling your leg, man. You’re a little too easy to get riled when you’re like this. He’s gonna be back soon. He said he was going to go get you some pie. Even if he had to make it himself.” Sam gave Dean a smile now. “Look, you give it, you can take it, right? Right?” 

 

“Yes, Sam,” Dean groaned. “But really. You’re so damn annoying.”

“Sure I am, jerk,” Sam smiled. 

“Hey, Sammy, get me a beer,” Dean cut in, rolling his eyes. 

Sam nodded, ducking into the fridge where he pulled one out. 

He handed Dean the cold bottle, which he palmed.

“Take it easy, though. Next thing you’ll be needing Cas to restore your liver,” Sam snarked.

This earned a death glare from Dean. “Sammy! Last time! Drop it!” 

“Dude, chill. Just saying, go slow, OK? You did just come down from being seriously brain-roastingly sick.” Sam threw his hands up as if in surrender. 

“And I’m saying I don’t want to hear another word about that!” 

“OK, I won’t.” Sam muttered, going to grab another beer, this one for himself. 

Sam settled back in his chair again, the two of them quietly watching the news that came on until the next commercial break. 

Dean spoke up now, his expression slightly puzzled. “Hey, Sammy?”

“Yeah? What, you want some of the tuna now? I was thinking I’d do that for supper, unless you want something from that grill again.”

 

“Yeah, grill would be good. I’m sick of tuna and sandwiches. But…earlier, what, was I asleep when Cas left?”

 

Sam shifted uncomfortably. “Uh, yeah, you were.”

“Why do I get the feeling there’s something you’re not telling me? Besides the fact I don’t remember falling asleep, although I do remember everything else?” Dean chided.

 

Sam sighed. “Look, he wanted to make sure you weren’t in pain, OK? We thought—“

 

“Wait, you had him knock me out?!” Dean sputtered. 

“No, no, no,” Sam backpedaled, standing up defensively. “Before he left, Cas said he didn’t want you to hurt while he was gone. You had drifted off already, so he just deepened your sleep a little.“ 

“Thanks, Sammy, coz that’s, yknow, totally not creepy at all,” Dean griped, making his voice drip sarcasm as he schooled his face to the best approximation of irritable that he could. Irritable might help hide the spasms of his ribs that made his eyes water when he breathed in too deeply or his muscles tensed too much. God, he needed Cas back right now. No, not Cas. Whiskey. Whiskey, or…something…. 

“Sorry he bothered caring,” Sam snarked back. “I mean if you want to be in pain that’s totally fine. Like now, say. But I don’t want to hear it.”

“Hear what?!” Dean snapped, the exertion of the exclamation making his ribs throb. Damn demons, damn injuries, damn healing time… Where the hell was Cas? He found the thought slipped through despite his best effort for it not to.

 

“That. That tone. You get snarky when you’re in pain,” Sam muttered.

“Do not!”

“Yeah, you do. Look, do you want more painkillers or something?” 

“A drink. I need a real drink,” Dean muttered, rolling his eyes. “And real food.”

“Are you sure? We really should have gone to the ER earlier, they could have given you something—“

 

“Yes!” Dean grunted under his breath, trying to keep from setting off another wave of pain. “Get me food. And whiskey, and… Just go ahead already. I’m fine.” 

 

“You’re sure?” Sam asked, standing hesitantly while he reached for Dean’s now empty beer bottle.

“Yes. And give me anther beer before you go,” Dean muttered. 

“Alright. I’ll be back soon. And…y’know what, I’ll see if I can find you something a little stronger. I know it sucks.”

“Yeah, see about that,” Dean replied, his tone grudging. But the idea of some proper pain pills was a relief. Anything right now stronger than beer and aspirin would be a major improvement….

Even if nothing was quite as good as Cas.


	2. Awkward Assistance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Between Sam's pestering and his pain, Dean's evening goes from bad to worse after Sam leaves him to get supper. Castiel shows up, ready to help....even if Dean isn't entirely ready to accept it.

Cas zapped back into the motel room, placing the pie he’d gotten while he was out on the table. He looked over the back of the couch, expecting to see Dean curled up there, but it was empty, the blankets and pillows in disarray. 

“Dean?” He called, edging into the other room, reaching out with his grace to see if he could feel Dean’s presence. He didn’t need to, though. He was greeted with the awful noises of vomiting coming from the bathroom that was attached to the bedroom. 

As he crossed the bedroom, he could see Dean through the open bathroom doorway, hunched on the tile floor, his face hovering over the toilet. 

“Dean!” Castiel exclaimed, alarm filling his voice. He was at the hunter’s side in an instant, wrapping his arms around Dean’s shaking shoulders. 

The awful retching stopped as Cas poured power through his hands into Dean’s body. 

“There. Is that any better?” 

Dean coughed, nodding. “Yeah,” he mumbled hoarsely. “Apparently beer wasn’t the best idea right now…”

 

“No,” Castiel shook his head. “And you need to lie down.” 

Dean nodded again, trying to haul himself upright from where he was hunched over the toilet. He was shaking bodily despite Cas’ bolstering his strength. 

“Dean,” Cas said quickly, “Let me get you to the bed.”

“No zapping places!” Dean snapped. “It messes up your stomach—“ 

“If that’s the case I will make sure to heal your stomach as well,” Castiel said soothingly. “You can’t walk right now, clearly. Let me help you.” 

 

“I'm fine, I can walk, I can—“ Dean protested, but as he tried to pull away from Cas, he leaned heavily against the wall beside the toilet, unable to stand fully, groaning, gagging with pain. 

Cas put a hand to his shoulder, sending more power into him to try to stop the agony he could sense searing through the hunter’s nerves. 

“But you’re not fine,” Cas murmured, his gut twisting at the realization that Dean so disliked the idea of accepting his offer of help. “You need help, but you do not want it. Have I done something? Or—“ 

“Fine,” Dean groaned, leaning subtly into the angel’s touch. Castiel noticed and poured more energy into Dean as he spoke. Whether Dean wanted to admit it or not, he needed it. “I'm not having this discussion right now. Just…god, get me somewhere I can lie down.” 

“That is not a problem,” Castiel replied, and the next instant, Dean was not leaning over the toilet on the cold tile of the bathroom floor anymore, but on the edge of the bed in the next room.

“A little warning next time?” Dean snapped.

“Yes, although—“ Cas began, but Dean cut him off, scrambling ineffectually as he tried to climb onto the bed. 

“Just…get me up there…” Dean grumbled, his tone grudging. 

Dean wanted to die of sheer embarrassment when he felt Cas lifting him. He couldn’t climb into the bed without help? What was wrong with him? 

Dean tried to swallow the anger at his body’s betrayal as he swung onto the bed, lying back exhaustedly. Cas let go of his arm where he’d helped lift him, and the pain hit, like running head first into a brick wall. 

Dean curled in on himself a bit, trying not to groan. He felt really, really shitty. Getting up to go to the bathroom had set every nerve in his body on fire, getting his stomach in on the action that had made him puke over the toilet. And this, well this was entirely too pathetic.

Then Cas was sitting beside him, his arms twined around Dean, who despite himself, found his body relaxing into Cas’ embrace. 

Even now that he’d given in, let Cas get him in the bed, he was aware that he should be embarrassed. And he should’ve been embarrassed before, the first time Cas had been holding, him insisted the little voice in his head that normally told him to brush Cas off, that he had a reputation as a badass to uphold. Badasses did not cuddle with angels. Especially male angels that were awkward friends with profound bonds. Right now, that niggling little voice’s usual vehemence was sapped away by the exhaustion, although it still registered vaguely that this went against its rules. But beyond the exhaustion weakening the inhibitions, it also felt right. Way, way too right. Dean screwed his eyes shut, rationalizing quickly, he was sick, and as embarrassing as it was, Cas was helping him. That was it. For the moment— He cut that thought off too before it turned into something else. 

“You should rest,” Cas murmured, rubbing Dean’s shoulder with one hand. 

 

Dean heard himself groan again, and promptly hated himself for it. Cas seemed to sense his tensing, and paused, concern wracking his expression when Dean looked up into his wide blue eyes.

“What was that earlier? Sam said you put me out before you left. I didn’t agree to that.” Dean asked, his tone vaguely accusing. 

“You were already nearly asleep,” Castiel replied, thinking back. 

“So, what you put me in a freaking coma while you were gone?”

 

“You were moaning in your sleep, just breathing was hurting you, and I…I couldn’t leave you like that, Dean. I’m sorry, I needed to check on things in Heaven. I would have stayed if I was able, I would have kept holding you. But I had to go, and I thought it was best to spare you suffering,” Cas replied, his voice edging into regret. “Sam agreed, and…I suppose if anything it wasn’t deep enough, since you woke before I was able to return. If you don’t want my help, though, I suppose I can stop—“ 

“No, no,” Dean replied, shifting to wrap Cas’ arm around him a bit more. “I just….I’m not used to this.” Dean admitted sheepishly. 

“It’s not a big deal,” Cas denied, shrugging, although that was a lie. It was. He couldn’t leave Dean when he was in this condition, and the enormity of the guilt Cas felt at the mere idea, he realized, made it definitively so. Yet even past the guilt, there was something warming, something heartening, in Dean needing him, and something even better in being there to fill that need. 

“I, uh, ok,” Dean murmured. 

Dean groaned inwardly. He wasn’t entirely certain why he kept poking at the issue, trying to burst the bubble, when it was something he wanted. The idea of Sam walking in again while he was sitting with Cas made Dean twitch. No, he’d never hear the end of it. And the worst of it was, Sam’s questions warranted a yes. Yes, Dean liked this. He’d have liked it even if he wasn’t ill. He…liked Cas. He shuddered at the idea of Sam finding out. 

 

“No big deal, huh? That’s good,” Dean muttered, obfuscating rapidly. He hoped his nonchalance covered the internal turmoil that was roiling up. “Real good. Just…don’t leave, OK?” 

Shit. He’d really just said that out loud? He cleared his throat awkwardly, debating how quickly he could feign sleep to end the positively horrible conversation. 

“That isn’t a problem,” Castiel smiled, mercifully letting them lapse into silence. Dean pretended to be asleep, but soon enough the pretending part wasn’t necessary anymore, and he drifted off properly, the boon of Cas’ touch and the gentle flow of his power making the darkness feel warm and comfortable. 

 

Dean awoke to the creak of the door opening. It was probably Sam, he realized. Not wanting to face his brother’s smirk, Dean played possum. 

He heard Sam’s footsteps on the carpet, pausing at the bedroom door. 

 

Sam’s face twisted into a knowing grin, realization hitting him. Cas was in the bed with Dean, holding him, again. Maybe there had been something to Dean’s fevered rantings, after all…. 

 

“I am suppressing the pain signals from his wounds,” Castiel explained after glancing up to see Sam’s amused leer. 

Sam chuckled, “Yeah, sure.” He just didn’t quite buy that, not with how he barely looked up from Dean when Sam came in the door. The angel was watching Dean a little too intently for that to be all his motivation. 

“Is he feeling OK? Because he never lets anybody hold him…” Sam pressed, not altogether certain why he was bothering asking.

Instead of Cas answering, Dean’s eyes opened, Sam’s gut sinking. Oops. Dean was awake, after all…

“Hey, I’m right here, Sam. I mean sure, I was going to try to go back to sleep, but not with you standing there pestering me! Now shut up, ‘coz next time you’re the one all sliced up, you get to comment on pain relief techniques.” The sarcasm was a bit less biting this time, Sam realized. Dean sounded sleepy, and… happy, even. 

“No judgment, I was just concerned,” Sam mumbled. “I mean, you don’t usually—”

 

“I don’t what?!” Dean snapped, his irritability coming out full force as he sat up from where he leaned against Cas. Sam noticed he didn’t waver this time, although Castiel’s hand remained on top of his. That was it, Sam realized. Cas was helping him, and in whatever ways he was doing that didn’t really matter. 

“Nothing.” Sam ate his words, suddenly feeling awful for even considering the line of questioning he’d undertaken. Dean hurt. Dean, who’d given up everything he ever had without questioning, all for him. And now when he should be returning the favor, Sam couldn’t even turn off that childish inclination for teasing. 

“Oh, no, Sammy, that was something alright,” Dean glowered. “Do you at least have my whiskey? And the food?” 

“Take it easy, do whatever helps you,” Sam placated, nodding. “And yeah. It’s in the main room. I can bring it in here if you want.” 

“Yeah, do that,” Dean grunted. “And bring that pie.” 

“Oh, yeah, you brought the pie, the one on the table?” Sam asked. 

“Yes. I left it in the other room when Dean needed assistance.” 

 

“Yeah, uh, OK,” Sam replied, smiling in what he hoped was a less peevish way. 

He returned a minute or two later with a takeout plate of food for Dean from the grill, some pills in a little paper cup, and--Sam thought he could see Dean drooling--the pie, which Cas had left on the table.

"Meds first," Sam told him, and Dean took them without protest, even though Sam hadn't brought the whiskey, but instead a soda.

"Are you sure you feel well enough to eat all that?" Cas asked.

Dean nodded. "Yeah. Long as you keep me from feeling all that again, I shouldn't hurl again."

"Alright then."

Sam left the with the food, self consciously shutting the door when he retreated to the sitting area, where he sat down in front of the tv with his own meal.  
Back in the bedroom, Dean ate some of his supper, which was annoyingly vaguely healthy-ish courtesy of Sam: a wrap and sweet potato fries.  
He ate without any problems, Cas still keeping a cautious hand on his shoulder, pumping power through him.

When he got to the pie, Dean took a bite, and grinned, unable to keep himself from mumbling,

"Oh my god, Cas, you're the best."


End file.
